Continuation of article on how we evade responsibility:
8. AMUSING OURSELVES TO DEATH.
If we had no other barometer of American interest in amusement, we could
measure it by the salaries of professional athletes and other entertainers.
By this barometer, we value amusement more than good law, medicine,
government, ministry, education, architecture, or scientific research. For
these are all salary- or fee-compensated professions in which, very often, the
financial rewards pale by comparison with those for baseball players, rock
singers, and talk-show hosts. In a capitalist culture, money is how you keep
score, and in the professions, such as medicine and football, salaries and
fees separate the winners from the also-rans. Thus, the orthopedic surgeon
who examines the anterior cruciate ligament of a bench-sitting guard for a
professional basketball team is looking, and likely looking up, at his
cultural superior.
And, of course, jocks and clowns are important people. We need them and what
they do. Who doesn't need and relish amusement now and then? Who doesn't
need a partly playful attitude toward her own work? Isn't it the sin of
pride that turns so much of human life gray with earnestness? Isn't grace,
not achievement, the light of the gospel and the center of the Reformation?
Still, the value we place on entertainment suggests that it has become a
diversion not only in the sense of a playful relief from the main business of
life, but also in the sense of a distraction from it, an evasion of it, a
sometimes grim, big-business alternative to it.
When people begin to focus their lives more on amusement than on doing their
work well, raising their children securely, gaining an education, and helping
those in need, they begin to evade responsibility. The problem is that the
evasions are lots of fun and therefore very tempting to all of us. It takes
strength to resist them. When we fail, when a whole society fails to resist,
life turns around in such a way that consumerism and the hunger for unreality
converge and the spending of one's leisure becomes one's occupation. Being a
deft and knowing consumer of clothes (ones that make a statement), films,
sports events, pro wrestling, concerts, tapes, compact disks, and video
games-and especially of the entertainment products in which these things
combine-becomes a main goal of one's life and a measure of its success.
Even Christian worship has been affected by the national obsession with
amusement, perhaps in part because worshipers watch a lot of television and
some of them watch a lot of televised worship. But worship does not fit the
television medium very well, just as the music of a string quartet does not
fit well into the warm-up events of Saturday night auto races. The reason,
as Neil Postman observes, is that we cannot consecrate the space in which we
experience TV religion -- it is the same room and the same screen we
associate with sitcoms, hockey games, and cartoons. Moreover, we are able,
and we know we are able, to change channels on anything, including a prayer
that lacks pizzazz. Everything about our experience of TV tells us that it
is an entertainment medium; everything about our experience of TV religion
tells us that its producers know this at least as well as we do. After
watching many hours of Robert Schuller, Oral Roberts, Jimmy Swaggart, and
others, Neil Postman reports what every sober viewer can see with her own
eyes. On TV, "everything that makes religion an historic, profound and
sacred human activity is stripped away; there is no ritual, no dogma, no
tradition, no theology, and, above all, no sense of spiritual transcendence.
On these shows, the preacher is tops. God comes out as second banana."
These developments remind us that corruptions of true religion generally
proceed in the same direction as corruptions of the general culture, and that
our contemporary religion, to borrow some words from John Henry Newman, would
therefore benefit from becoming "vastly more superstitious, more bigoted,
more gloomy, more fierce" -- not because these qualities are desirable, but
because they would serve as an antidote to our superficial cheeriness,
because they would shorten the grins on the happy faces of show-biz religion.
DERELICTS
At the heart of all such evasive maneuvers lies a more fundamental evasion,
or perhaps two others. The sinner who abandons his children, or who goes on
permanent safari within his own psyche, or who shuffles back to bed instead
of helping someone who is being stabbed in the street has turned his back not
only on his neighbor, but also on God, and even, in some way, on himself. By
refusing his calling he extracts his own core, hollowing himself out to a
shell of a human being, without weight or substance.
How so? Our neighbor is God's child just as we are: to sell a neighbor short
is therefore to sell God short and to fail a brother or sister. We ourselves
are God's children: to fail God and our brothers and sisters is to shrink our
own role in the great drama of redemption and to cut some of the lines that
attach us to its center. The gospel, after all, is a portrait of the courage
of Jesus Christ -- the one who "set his face like flint" to go to Jerusalem
and meet its terrors, the one who gathered himself to undertake there the one
piece of work that was harder than the creation of the world.
The gifts of God -- vitality, love, forgiveness, courage against evil, joy at
our depths, and everything else that flows from the terrible work of Christ --
may be found only in the company of God. And we keep company with God only
by adopting God's purposes as our own and following through on them even when
it is initially difficult or painful to do so. To place ourselves in range
of God's choicest gifts, we have to walk with God, work with God, lean on
God, cling to God, come to have the sense and feel of God, refer all things
to God. Contrary to our self-interested impulses, we have to worship God
with a disciplined spirit and an expectant heart.
Despite certain modern assumptions, life with God isn't mainly a matter of
knuckling under to our superior, the image that modernity so much detests.
We do have to trust and obey, not first of all to be "happy in Jesus," but
rather to rise to the full stature of sons and daughters, to mature into the
image of God, to grow into adult roles in the business of redeeming the
world. God wants from us not numb obedience but devoted freedom, creativity,
and energy. God wants not slaves but intelligent, grownup children who show
enthusiasm for the family business.
In short, we are to become responsible beings: ones to whom God may entrust
deep and worthy assignments, expecting us to respond by making something
significant of them -- expecting us to make something significant of our
lives themselves. No one of our lives is an accident. None of us simply
finds herself here in the world. We have been called into existence,
expected, awaited, equipped, and assigned. We have been called to undertake
the stewardship of a good creation, to create sturdy and buoyant families
that pulse with the glad give-and-take of the generations. We are expected
to show hospitality to strangers and to express gratitude to friends and
teachers. We have been assigned to seek justice for our neighbors and,
wherever we can, to relieve them from the tyranny of their suffering. Some
of us have been called, in imitation of Christ, to bear unusual suffering of
our own.
But we have also been called, and graced, to delight in our lives, to feel
their irony and angularity, to make something sturdy and even lovely of them.
For such undertakings, we have to find emotional and spiritual funds from the
very God who assigns them, turning our faces toward God's light so that we
may be drawn to it, warmed by it, bathed in it, revitalized by it. Then we
have to find our role within God's big project, the one that stretches across
the border from this life into the next. To be a responsible person is to
find one's role in the building of shalom -- the rewebbing of God, humanity,
and all creation in justice, harmony, fulfillment, and delight. To be a
responsible person is to find one's own role and then, funded by the grace of
God, to fill this role and to delight in it.
The alternative is more hopeless than we ever imagined on the rainiest Monday
morning of our lives. For when we flee responsibility, we turn our backs on
God's presence and blessing, we walk out on the one work project that will
outlast every recession, and we begin the slow process of converting
ourselves into derelicts. We "hate the light and do not come to the light."
Instead, we gather all we have and make our way toward a far country, toward
the outer darkness, toward a place of self-deprivation, a place of our own
making.
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Cornelius Plantinga, Jr., is professor of systematic theology at Calvin
Theological Seminary in Grand Rapids, Michigan, and the author of "Assurances
of the Heart" (Zondervan). This article is adapted from the preface and
concluding chapter of "Not the Way It's Supposed to Be: A Breviary of Sin," to
be published next month by Eerdmans.
Copyright (c) 1994 Christianity Today, Inc./CHRISTIANITY TODAY Magazine
#3520
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